


It's Never Twins

by Jaybeefoxy



Category: New Tricks, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF John Watson, Forgiving Greg, M/M, Mycroft and Greg are married, Mycroft and Stephen are twins, Mycroft has a twin, One Shot, Protective Greg, Sherlock New Tricks cross over AU, kind of hurt/comfort if you squint, secrets and lies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:56:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29714751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaybeefoxy/pseuds/Jaybeefoxy
Summary: Mycroft has a twin brother, but he's never told Greg about him. Greg is understandably upset when he finds out...on their wedding day.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 4
Kudos: 54





	It's Never Twins

**Author's Note:**

> while watching A Death In the Family, an episode of New Tricks, I was rather startled to see Stephen Fisher, the spook who turns up to requsition UCOS' help with a cold case. He might be Mycroft's twin. In fact the first thing out of my husband's mouth when he saw him was "Mycroft!", and my husband isn't as much of a Sherlock fan as I am. So it's not just me. Interestingly, this episode was aired in 2012, and Sherlock came out in 2010. Nobody can change my mind that this character was based on Mark Gatiss' Mycroft. Anyway, what if Mycroft wasn't refering to Eurus when he referenced 'the other one'? This just...happened.

“Stephen?”

“Mycroft,” the solemn man acknowledged with barely a raised eyebrow, as though he were deeply surprised to find confirmation of something he suspected and was doing a monumental job of hiding it. 

“I was not aware that you would be... _here_.” Spoken as though there were no better words to describe their current location. 

“My own brother’s wedding? Why on earth not?” 

“Because you have never deigned to stir yourself from the Diogenes for anything less than a National Emergency, that is why not,” Mycroft retorted pointedly. 

Greg was looking between the two men with barely disguised shock. If he was being honest, he was probably doing a terrible job of hiding it. He couldn’t stop looking at the newcomer, wondering. He looked so like Mycroft but not like... He gave up and fixed Mycroft with a look.

“Introduce us?” the new man suggested.

Mycroft seemed to collect himself, although, if Greg was any judge he was seething. “Pardon my manners, Stephen. This is Gregory Lestrade...”

“Detective Chief Inspector, no less,” the anonymous man said, an oily and somewhat insincere smile in place. He proffered a hand, and Greg reached to shake, noting a slightly limp hold, most likely calculated to misdirect. 

“Gregory, I would...not ‘ _like to’_ exactly...but I will _tolerate_ presenting my brother to you, on this occasion. This is Stephen, my twin.”

“Your twin? You...have a _twin_?”

“Alas, yes,” Mycroft admitted.

“Alas, true,” Stephen said, simultaneously. The two men shared a glance, then turned their attention back to Greg. Their twin gazes were unsettling.

“When were you going to tell me you had a twin, Mycroft?” Greg said, his voice dangerously low.

“Probably never,” both men spoke in unison again. Greg glared, flummoxed and somewhat upset. Even on their wedding day, Mycroft had to go and prove that he still didn’t trust his partner. 

“Oh dear, brother mine, I think there is trouble in paradise already,” Stephen observed, mildly. 

“You, whoever you are, this has nothing whatever to do with you,” Greg growled. “Really, I should have expected this, shouldn’t I? You and your idiot brother, with a crazy sister who tries to murder the both of you, and now... _him!_ What else have you got? A mad husband locked in an attic? Oh, no, perhaps that position is reserved for me, because frankly, you’re driving me nuts! _”_

“Gregory...you cannot possibly understand...”

“Oh, I think he understands too well, _brother dear,”_ came the sarcastic reply. 

“Too bloody right, I do. This is our _wedding day,_ Mycroft. How could you not tell me about your twin brother?”

“Easily, believe me. Has it done any good finding out about him? No. It has not. You might have continued in blissful ignorance of his existence, had he had the common decency to stay in his retreat, to hibernate like the snake he is,” Mycroft growled.

“Snakes do not actually hibernate, Mycroft,” Stephen insisted on pointing out. “They go into a state known as _brumation_ where they become less active and their metabolism slows down tremendously...”

“Oh, shut up!” Mycroft snapped. “Always so bloody pedantic, trying to prove yourself the clever one. Why couldn’t you just stay away? You always spoil things...”

“Spoil things? Like you didn’t queer my pitch with the Brazilian Ambassador...”

“Are you still bringing that up? That was thirty years ago. He was never going to be attrac...”

“Thanks to you, I never found out!”

“Stephen, you utter Prick, just... _go home!”_

Greg watched as the two men began to squabble, and found himself at a loss as to what to do. It was their wedding day, a day which should have been a memorable day full of romance and memories... Greg closed his eyes and took a deep breath. _Might have known it would happen,_ he thought sourly. _Can’t even have this day without a Holmes throwing a spanner in the works_. He suddenly wanted to be anywhere but there, witnessing the evidence that his husband had yet again showed him a grievous lack of trust…

“And another thing. You were always an utter Prig and you always cheated at games.”

“They were boring games. Besides, whose fault was that? You always said you liked a challenge.”

“Not to the exclusion of all else...”

“What in Holy Hell...?” John watched the verbal exchange—he refused to call it a fight—from the sidelines. “Who is that?”

“That, John, is our other brother,” Sherlock explained casually.

“You have yet _another_ brother? Where was he when Urus was causing mayhem then?”

“New Zealand. Or was it Belgium? No, Alaska, I think. He was visiting our Aunt in Juneau.”

“You have an aunt in Alaska?”

“She’s an artist,” Sherlock said, as if that explained everything. 

“Sherlock, Greg’s upset...” John watched his friend walk off into the garden, disappearing round a corner of the building. “What is going on?”

“Stephen is Mycroft’s twin,” Sherlock explained quickly. “He almost never gets involved in anything outside of his work with MI5, and then it rarely extends to anything other than cryptography, and then only if a particularly cheeky little cypher might catch his eye. Otherwise he’s hibernating in the Diogenes. He’s brilliant, but he knows even less than we do about... _this_ ,” Sherlock waved a hand around him. “Human emotion, relationships, etc., etc.,” 

“I gather that neither you nor Mycroft thought to tell Greg you have another brother then? Hell, it’s not _just_ a brother, Mycroft has a _twin_. Did you not think that was important?”

“I am not my brother’s keeper, John, as well you know. If Mycroft didn’t tell Gordon about Stephen, then it is none of my business.” 

“You didn’t tell me, either, did you, you utter Cock? Typical, Sherlock. Typical bloody Holmesian behaviour. Now Greg is upset, _on his wedding day, Sherlock...”_ John left the statement hanging. Sherlock blinked, and frowned.

“A bit not good?” 

“That is an understatement, and what’s more you know it is,” John replied. He watched as Sherlock walked abruptly over to the squabbling siblings and tapped Mycroft on the shoulder. 

“What!” Mycroft almost shouted, as Sherlock interrupted him just as he was about to deliver a salient point about his twin’s shortcomings during Christmas 1997...

“Mycroft, Greg has gone.” Mycroft turned, realising that his husband had vanished. He looked about him, panicked, seeking Greg’s face in the crowd. When he couldn’t spot Greg, he whirled back to glare at Stephen. “This is your fault.”

“My fault? I was not the one who didn’t tell my future husband I had a twin.”

“Oh...BUGGER OFF!” Mycroft turned and disappeared out the patio doors at a run.

Stephen turned to his younger brother and sighed dramatically. 

“And they call me the drama queen,” Sherlock said, pointedly. “Why are you here, Steph?”

“Kindly struggle to the end of my name, _Sherly_ ,” Stephen complained. 

“No,” Sherlock said. 

“Right, are you going to introduce me?” John said, coming up on Sherlock’s elbow. 

“John Watson, this is our brother, Siger, or Stephen, as he prefers to be known. Stephen Siger George Holmes, this is my partner, John Watson...”

“I am well aware of who he is, Sherlock. Your pet doctor...”

John leaned in as close as he dared to the dapper man standing beside his partner. “I should warn you,” he said, voice dangerously low, “that as well as being a doctor, I’m also _Captain_ John Watson, late of the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers,” he explained. “Three years in Afghanistan, a veteran of Kandahar, Helmand, and Bart's Hospital, and Greg’s friend. It would be inadvisable to make yourself any more of a nuisance than you already have. Clear?” He watched Stephen bluster a bit. 

“Do you have any idea who I am?” Stephen sneered. “Do you have any idea of what I could do to you? Do I need to warn you…?”

“I think,” John said carefully, “that would be embarrassing for both of us.”

“Stephen, just...make yourself scarce,” Sherlock suggested. “Perhaps it is not your fault that Mycroft didn’t think to inform his husband of your existence, but perhaps now is the time to consider why that might be? Take my advice. Don’t be here when they return.”

“You mean I can’t even enjoy a drink to my brother’s happiness?”

“Knowing you, you’d try to place a curse on him instead.”

“Yet again you credit me with abilities I do not possess. As of yet, supernatural powers have evaded me, Sherlock.”

“What a relief," Sherlock said. "Go home, Stephen.” Sherlock watched the man shrug, glance at the simmering anger in John’s expression and straighten, imperceptibly. 

“Very well,” he drawled, urbane exterior back in place. “I brought him a wedding present though, despite not being invited. Make sure he gets it, would you?” 

“What is it?” John asked. “A bomb?”

Stephen grimaced. “Merely a small token of my regard.” He extracted an envelope from inside his coat and handed it over. Instead of a scoffing rebuttal, Sherlock simply took the envelope from Stephen’s fingers. 

“I’ll tell him,” he offered, turning the envelope over thoughtfully. “What he does with it, however, is up to him.”

**0000000**

“Gregory?” Mycroft approached cautiously, as though Greg were about to bolt. He had found his husband on the shore of the small lake behind the country house they had chosen to get married in. He was watching the sun sink in fiery glory, back straight, smoke curling between his fingers from the cigarette he had managed to beg from someone. “I thought you were quitting.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes I need the support. Don’t seem to get it from elsewhere…”

“What can I say? Gregory, I am so sorry. I did not expect him to show his face... _anywhere_ , let alone here…”

“Why, Mycroft?” Greg’s eyes, wary and hurt, met his in the gathering gloom. “Why didn’t you tell me? How many more times…?”

“Some things are best left untold.”

“But he’s your _twin,_ Myc. Never mind brother…”

“And that makes it more special somehow?”

“Kind of, yes. Twins are... _different_ , Myc.”

“How so? He causes me as much pain and turmoil as Sherlock ever did, but I hate him for it. He and I were never close.” Mycroft sighed. 

"But...you're twins. I mean...twins are meant to be...on the same wavelength or something, aren't they?"

“He was _always_ there, and I was _never_ alone. _Never alone._ He would never leave me alone as we grew up, and mummy was always keen for us to be together. God knows why. It’s what twins do, apparently. She dressed us alike, and I _hated_ that. I wanted to be _me_ , Alexander Mycroft Maurice Holmes, and instead I was his mirror image, or he was mine, I was never sure which way around it was. I had no _individuality,_ no personality that wasn’t bound up with his…” Mycroft’s voice faltered.

“Go on. Even so, Myc, why did you keep him a secret?”

“I tried to go to a different university, but oh no, he wanted to go to the same one. I told him no. Mummy objected, said there was no problem, why couldn’t we both go to the same one? We could share digs…” Mycroft shuddered. “ _I hate him,_ ” he said vehemently. “I _never ever_ wanted you to meet, Gregory. I never even wanted to acknowledge him. I was scared he might try to charm you away from me, just for spite, or worse, coerce you into leaving…” “That’s so many shades of fucked up, you know? That plainly says you don’t trust me.”

“It is him I do not trust. Stephen has a marginally higher IQ than mine. We often pitted our wits against each other, and I rarely, if ever, won against him. He is devious, ruthless and manipulative,” Mycroft sighed heavily. “We eventually came to an uneasy accord, and we are content as long as he does not intrude on my life and I do not intrude on his. We spend every other Christmas at our parents’, so we never meet, even though we are both members of the same club. I allow that much, but…”

“But you’d have had to explain him away to me sooner or later, surely. Mycroft, I don’t care how much you hate him, or what unresolved childhood issues you’ve got with him. If you were scared of him charming me or threatening me, wouldn’t telling me have been a better option, warning me about him, about what to expect? I mean, would simply telling me have summoned your demon of a brother to steal my soul?”

Mycroft took a deep breath. “In truth, there was never a right time. I was afraid of what you’d do, of what you might insist on. Like me he is... _powerful_ in his chosen position. He can cajole, and threaten, and I... _worried_ , concerning what he might do. I am not omnipotent, despite rumours to the contrary. I have never wanted you to meet him. He has made it his business to scare off my partners in the past. I had no wish for that to happen to you. At the very least, he would have tried to humiliate you with his superior intellect, and I did not want that either.”

“Mycroft, I am made of sterner stuff, you know. Otherwise I’d never have weathered either you or Sherlock thus far. I’ve not run screaming yet. Besides I am supposed to protect you. I can’t protect you against people I don’t know exist, can I? We nearly found that out with your sister.” He watched Mycroft wince.

“I really had no wish for this to happen, not today of all days…”

“Yeah, well, it has. Has he gone?”

“I am honestly not certain. I hope he will have seen sense and disappeared by the time we get back.”

“Good. So...once and for all, have you any more eccentric relatives I need to know about? No more loony sisters in secure mental facilities? Long lost brother in Oz?”

“No, no, unless you count our maiden aunt Eugenie.”

“What does she do?”

“She’s a painter, lives in Alaska.”

“Into a white phase, is she?” Greg quipped. “I mean, always seems to be winter over there, doesn’t it?”

Mycroft hazarded a smile. “In truth, she is...less than successful, despite being directly descended from Vernet.” 

“Pity. You mean we can’t fall back on her paintings as a retirement fund?”

“My apologies. Unless you like mountains, and fir trees…”

“You make her sound like Bob Ross.”

“Who?”

“Joy of Painting? Television series? No? Okay, then. He was a painter, went on tele, taught people how to paint, painted trees and lakes and mountains a lot.” 

“Ah, very well. He does sound a lot like Aunt Genie. I do have a few of hers, but she isn’t well known.” 

“Pity, as I said. Maybe her pictures might gain value once she’s dead.”

“Alas, I very much doubt it.” Mycroft stood away and watched Greg pitch the cigarette stub into the water. There was a tiny hiss as it extinguished. He hoped his marriage wasn’t heading the same way. “I am _very_ sorry, Gregory.”

Greg huffed, gazing into the sunset. “No more secret siblings, Mycroft. In fact, please, just...no more secret _anything._ I know you can’t discuss your work, we’ve agreed on that, but just... _trust me_ , okay? With the other stuff, with family matters, with personal shit. If you can’t do it now, you never will, and we can’t base a marriage on that. Eurus was bad enough…” 

Mycroft opened his mouth to explain yet again about security clearance and National Security, but Greg gave him a stare that closed his mouth and had him rethinking his words at speed. It sometimes felt as though he would be in purgatory for the lie that was Eurus forever more. 

Something must have registered in his expression because Greg’s gentle hand found his cheek. He startled. “It’s okay, Mycroft,” Greg soothed, exasperated but fond. “Please God, though, no more brothers and sisters I should know about, or anyone for that matter, be it mad aunts in the arctic, or kids or…” he paused, because mycroft had snorted at the word _kids._ “What, you know about mine.”

“Yes, I do, and Gemma is a perfectly lovely young woman.”

“She was a mistake, Mycroft. A youthful mistake, but...mistake or not, I told you about her.”

“I am deeply sorry for my deception…”

“In a way, it wasn’t exactly deception…”

“By omission, Gregory, it was a lie of omission. I simply forgot him, I suppose, because I don’t like him, I do not want him as part of my life and yet, because of our jobs, he turns up like the proverbial bad penny…” 

A gentle throat clearing behind them made both men turn around to see Sherlock standing a few yards away. “Am I to understand an accord has been reached?” he asked, tentatively.

The two men by the lakeside exchanged a glance, and then Greg nodded, twining his fingers in Mycroft’s. “You do, Sherlock. Yes.”

“Thank God for that. Siger is leaving.”

“He prefers his more normal name, Sherlock.”

“His loss. He said to tell you he has gifted you something.”

“I want nothing from him.” 

“He suggested as much, but…” Sherlock looked pensive. “In my estimation, he is trying to make amends.” He handed over an envelope. 

Mycroft looked at it blankly. “What is this?”

“His _wedding present,”_ Sherlock said. 

Mycroft took the envelope and paused, seeing the neatly torn top edge. “You opened it?”

“Why does that not surprise me?” Greg sighed.

“I wanted to make sure it was acceptable, and not something that would ruin your day.”

“Any more than it already has been, you mean?” 

Mycroft extracted the contents. It looked like a solicitors letter. Mycroft blinked and frowned. “I don’t understand…”

“What?” Greg prompted.

“He has signed over his half of a property Uncle Rudy left to us both. I think Rudy had designs on us reconciling, and so left us a cottage we were supposed to share on our retirement. His joke, and not in good taste, but that was Rudy all over…”

“Where is this cottage…” Greg took the pages and leafed through them, freezing when he saw the photos. “Myc...this is... _not_ a cottage.”

“That’s its name, Fox Cottage…”

“It’s a _mansion_.” 

“In actuality, Fox _Hall_ Cottage is a rather substantial hunting lodge on the edge of the Sussex Downs.”

They both looked up at the dry voice, to see Stephen standing a few yards away. “Apologies,” he said, with a smile that did not reach his eyes. “I merely wished to express my congratulations, and my apologies, to you, Gregory. If not to my brother, Mycroft.”

“What on earth are you doing, Stephen?” Mycroft demanded.

“A wedding demands a gift, and I am merely fulfilling that obligation.”

“You were never under any _obligation.”_

“I disagree. You never understood me, Mycroft. Never. For all your intellect. Twins, Mycroft, we are _twins_. I always wanted to be your twin,” the man growled, heatedly. “You _never_ understood that, did you? The drive to be acknowledged as a pair…”

“No, I did not. I abhorred it, the way mummy always pushed it on us, on _me_. Dressed us alike, made us do everything together...You _never_ understood my need to be myself, _myself,_ Stephen, not your bloody mirror.”

“To the point where you have completely cut me out of your life, Mycroft. I never wanted that to happen…” 

“Then you shouldn’t have done what you did…”

“I know! I do know. For that I am sorry, but…” he paused, “one cannot turn back the clock. However, one can at least try for a more agreeable future. Good luck, Mycroft. I sincerely hope everything turns out well for you both. Enjoy Sussex.”

Greg watched the two men face off, on either side of an argument neither would ever win. He took a breath, and then stepped neatly between them. He faced Stephen and held out a hand. The man glanced at it, bewildered. “Considering you are now my brother in law, if nothing else you deserve acknowledgement, and a thank you for the considerate gift. In future though, don’t be a Dick.” 

He watched as Stephen stretched out a tentative hand, and felt a certain honesty in the stronger grip he now used to take Greg’s hand in his and shake. There was less misdirection and more truthfulness behind it.

“I shall endeavour not to be.”

“In return, I’ll try to get his Highness there to invite you for drinks. Baby steps, you know? Let’s see what happens.”

Stephen dropped Greg’s hand and nodded. “Very well. Although I shall not be holding my breath. I’m sure _you_ understand.”

They both watched Stephen retreat into the darkness of the nearby carpark. Presently, a car started, wheels crunching on gravel, engine noise receding into the night.

“Come along, love,” Greg said, reaching out a hand to his husband. “This is our day, and we’ve wasted too much time already. After that, I need a stiff drink.” 

“How can you be so forgiving?”

“Because I know you Holmeses. I know you, and he’s your twin. Despite you not liking him…”

“ _Not liking_ is rather an understatement.”

“Yeah, well, despite your... _incompatibility_ , then. You’re still twins, and I’d lay odds on bets that you and he are more alike than you want to acknowledge. He’s made a peace offering. In the only way he perhaps knows how. Either that or this is just the beginning of a very elaborate revenge scenario.”

Mycroft chuckled, relief flooding through him. “Then perhaps we had best prepare for that.” 

“Book one way tickets to Rio,” Greg suggested, “just to throw him off the scent, and then get Anthea to book tickets to Alaska, we’ll bug out and live with your artist Aunty in Juneau for the rest of our lives.” By the look on Mycroft’s face, he was actually taking that seriously. Greg elbowed him gently. “Hey, I was joking…”

“Greg…”

“What? You don’t think he would, do you?”

“Where my twin is concerned, I would never underestimate his capacity for deviousness. It is, perhaps, best to be prepared.”

The new husbands walked back inside, to be greeted by cheers and whistles, and drinks were pressed into their hands. Greg raised his champagne in a toast. “Here’s to us,” he said. “I suppose it’s too much to hope for no more surprises?”

Mycroft smiled. “Where my family is concerned, perhaps, but I thought you said you knew Holmeses? We seem to have an unfortunate habit of surprising people.”

“I guess it’ll just keep me on my toes, won’t it? Life with you is never going to be boring.”

“Here’s to surprises that will rescue you from boredom, and boredom that will keep you sane?”

“I’ll drink to that,” Greg agreed, and raised his glass. 

**Author's Note:**

> On another note, Tim McInnerny played Sir Eustace Carmichael in The Abominable Bride.


End file.
